


Don't Go

by fireworksandcryofreeze



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Cannon-verse, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minor Character Death, Not CACW Compliant, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, pre-war era to post-war era, through the ages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 02:52:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7873333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireworksandcryofreeze/pseuds/fireworksandcryofreeze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Steve asked Bucky not to go and one time he didn't have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first fic that I've ever posted, so I've very excited for y'all to read it! I wrote this as a part of the 2016 Stucky Big Bang that thestuckylibrary organized, so I want to give a huge shout out to them for making this happen. I had two amazing artist who made something for this fic. mander3-swish made an awesome fan-mix which you can find here: http://mander3-swish.tumblr.com/post/149529749857/dont-go-fanmix-stucky-big-bang-2016youtube and asprinkleofmermaids drew a beautiful picture which you can check out here: http://asprinkleofmermaids.tumblr.com/post/149585281485/and-heres-my-art-for-the-talented

When Steve woke up feeling flushed despite the snow that was trying to build its way up to their third-floor apartment, throat sore, and a cough building in his chest, he knew what it meant—the drippy nose and weariness he’d chocked up to the weather yesterday was definitely at least a cold if not the flu. An ugly cough ripped through him and he muffled it in his blanket. He didn’t want his mom to hear him. Today wouldn’t be the first time that Steve had stayed home from school sick, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but this time Steve had someone at school to notice that he was missing and worry about why he wasn’t there, and he didn’t want to put Bucky through that if he could help it. So Steve laid in bed, watching a few lingering snowflakes from yesterday’s storm flitter down, willing strength back into his limbs. If he could get dressed and ready before his mom woke up maybe he could sneak out without her noticing he was sick. She’d picked up an extra shift at the hospital last night so he had a better chance than usual.

He gathered his energy and sat up, swinging his legs to the side of his bed, and flinched with his bare feet met the cold wooden floors. He counted to three and then stood up. The drawings on his walls twirled and twisted in front of him and the ground spun under his feat. He tried to sit back down on his bed, but he missed, slumping to the floor with a thud. Dazed, he stared at the once again still room trying to come up with a new plan of action.

“Steve?” Sarah asked, bursting into the room. “Oh my goodness, Steve. What happened?”

She rushed over and crouched down beside him.

“I’m okay, Mama,” he said, trying to keep his voice from slurring from the exhaustion that was reaching up to pull him through the cracks back to sleep. “I just tripped, is all.”

She placed the back of her hand on his forehead, and he leaned into her slightly; her cold hands felt nice on his pounding head.

“Honey, you’re burning up. You probably have the flu. Let’s get you back in bed.” She stood so she could lean over and grab Steve under his armpits to help him up, but he pushed her hands away.

“Really, mama. I’m fine. I’ve gotta get ready. We’ve got a history test today, and I promised Bucky that we’d study together before school. I’ll be okay.” He tried to push himself up off the floor himself but didn’t get very far.

Sarah chuckled softly. “You know, most 7 th grade boys would be happy to miss a test. You’ve always been too stubborn for your own good.” She sat on the bed and reached a hand out to lift Steve’s chin so he was looking at her. “James’s not going to be mad if you aren’t there because you’re sick. He’d probably be really mad if you went to school just because you promised to study with him and you got worse. So you’re going to get back in bed now and focus on getting better, okay? Plus James knows where we live; maybe he’ll come visit after school.”

Steve could see where she was coming from, but history was Bucky’s worse subject, and he wanted to help, especially after Bucky had spent so much time helping Steve with his math.

“Maybe I could just go for the morning—”

“Steven,” Sarah said, cutting him off. “Bed. Now.”

Steve sighed, but gave in, holding his arms up so Sarah could help him up. Though she was only a few inches taller than him, she pulled him up like he was no heavier than a bag of flour. He tried not to dwell on it as he lay in bed a few moments later, covered in their heaviest blankets. Instead, he comforted himself with the thought that it was already mid-December and this was the first time he’d been sick enough to stay home from school this winter. His previous record was a few days after Thanksgiving. Maybe this meant that his lungs were getting stronger. Another heaving cough ripped through him—the kind that lasted long enough to leave him feeling breathless by the end. Or maybe his mom was right and he was just too stubborn get sick, especially now that he had Bucky.

 

As it turned out, Bucky did come over that day after school to check on Steve. He and Steve had met for the first time at the start of the school year when Steve transferred to the middle school Bucky went to. He and Steve were in the same class but didn’t become friends until after a month or so of classes. Steve was pretty quiet—it was always hard being the new kid, especially when you’re smaller than the rest of kids—and Bucky mostly hung out with the kids on the football team. They started hanging out after the day Steve got into his first fight. Ron Mullard, class bully, had been teasing Jack about the holes and worn out patches on his clothes, saying awful things about how Jack’s mom should take up streetwalking to get them enough money for new clothes, but, then again, he’d said, she wasn’t pretty enough for it. Jack hadn’t said anything, just gritted his teeth and took it—his mom would be pissed if he came home with blood on his shirt again—but Steve and a bunch of the other kids who were coming out of the building to head home overheard and couldn’t let that slide past. He’d demanded an apology and when Ron refused it turned into a fight that Steve had no chance of winning since Ron had a head’s height and maybe 40 pounds on him, but Steve would not give up. Bucky had been watching the whole time and eventually jumped in to help. After that they quickly became best friends bonding over their shared love of comic books and mutual hatred of Ron Mullard, who had always been Bucky’s least favorite part of being on the football team.

Bucky had been over to Steve’s a few times before, but this time, as he knocked he couldn’t help feeling hesitant about it. Every other time he’d come over he’d walked home from school with Steve, and he wasn’t sure how Steve and his mother would feel about him visiting without asking first, especially with Steve having missed school. But the cough Steve had been trying to conceal yesterday hadn’t slipped his notice, and he wanted to make sure Steve was doing okay.

“Oh, hello, James,” Sarah said as she opened the door. Bucky glanced in through the crack at the living room, which was tidy as always. The kitchen was over to the right of the living room and the bathroom to the left and the two bedrooms were to the back.

“Hi, Mrs. Rogers,” said Bucky. “I wanted to see if Steve was all right. I was worried when he wasn’t at school today.”

She smiled and opened the door a bit wider, but didn’t let him in. “Steve has the flu, but he’ll be fine in a few days. He’s sleeping right now, so you can’t see him, but it was nice of you to stop by and check on him. I’ll let him know you were here.”

Bucky came back again the next day, but Sarah turned him away again. Steve’s fever hadn’t broken so he was sleeping for most of the day. It wasn’t until the third missed day of school that Steve was well enough for Bucky to visit.

Bucky opened the door to Steve’s room slowly on the off-chance that Mrs. Rogers has been wrong about Steve being awake. The door opened to the foot of Steve’s twin bed, which was pushed into the corner. A single window was set in the middle of the back wall with Steve’s desk which was covered in a mess of papers from classes or drawings underneath it. The closet was on the right side of the room and the dresser up against the wall between the bedroom and kitchen. The pale yellow paint on the walls was faded and chipping in place with Steve’s drawings taped up strategically to cover the worst of it. Bucky always loved coming to Steve’s apartment. It was pretty small and nothing too special, but the Rogers knew how to make it feel homey all the same.

Steve was awake, sitting propped up against his pillows with several blankets piled on top of him. A couple more lay on the floor new to the bed where Steve must have shoved them off when he’d gotten too warm.

“Bucky,” Steve said with a smile that lit up his weary eyes. “My mom said you’d been over the last few days to see me, but I sort of thought she was making it up.”

Bucky laughed. “And here I thought she was making up the fever thing as an excuse for you being sick of me.” He closed the door behind him and made his way over to the desk, swung his backpack onto the floor, and slumped into the chair.

Steve sat up a bit straighter in his bed, feeling a bit less exhausted now that Bucky was here.

 

“So, did I miss anything at recess today?” Steve asked.

Bucky chuckled, turning his head to meet Steve’s gaze. He’d abandoned Steve’s uncomfortable wooden desk chair hours ago in favor of sitting on the foot of Steve’s bed, back against the wall. “And by that you mean: did Ron and his friends try to pull anything while I—Steve, Hero of the Playground—wasn’t there?”

“Well,” Steve said with a laugh that turned into a cough. “I wouldn’t have phrased it quite like that but yeah I guess.”

“Nah, they didn’t try nothing. I swear nothing ever happens when you’re out sick. It’s like you’re a magnet for that crap or something.”

“I am not!” Steve protested. “I’m just better at spotting things is all.”

“Uh huh,” Bucky said with his usual smirk, “I’m sure the partial hearing loss in your right ear and being color blind is super helpful when spotting bullies.”

Steve grabbed one of the pillows he was leaning on and hurled it at Bucky. “They do actually. Color blindness is like x-ray vision for spotting jerks. For example there’s one sitting on the end of my bed.”

“Oh it’s on now,” Bucky said, but before he could get his revenge he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Steve,” Sarah said, opening the door, “I’m glad that you seem to be feeling better, but you should probably be going to bed soon. It’s already 8 and you need your rest. And James, aren’t your parents going to be worried about you? You’ve already missed dinner.”

“I told them I was coming over here this morning,” Bucky said. “They said it was fine for me to stay as long as I was welcome since it’s Friday and all so long as I’m back to watch Becca tomorrow morning at 10. But I can go if that’d be better.”

Sarah hesitated for a moment, looking conflicted, so Steve jumped in before she could make a decision.

“Can he stay, Mama?” Steve asked. “Promise we’ll go to bed straight away and not stay up talking or anything.”

Steve put on his best angelic pleading face. Staying in bed sick of days on end sucked. Being ill was never fun, but the worst part was just the boredom of being all alone and too tired to draw or read. Bucky being over made it almost tolerable.

Sarah sighed but conceded. “All right, fine. But if I hear any talking or roughhousing, James will be spending the night in the living room.”

Bucky helped Sarah set up the couch cushions on Steve’s floor and drape sheets over them. It wasn’t quite as comfortable as a bed but it was much better than sleeping on the floor. Steve and Bucky kept their promise—well, mostly—whispering for just a bit longer after the lights turned out. Bucky hadn’t even noticed when Steve fell asleep, drifting off during the middle of Bucky’s recounting of the latest school drama.

“Steve,” Bucky whispered after Steve hadn’t responded in a while. There was no response except for some slightly labored breathing. “Goodnight, Steve. Feel better.” Bucky rolled over onto his stomach and let himself drift.

He woke up what felt like a few hours later when Steve’s breathing changed. There was something off about it and Bucky strained to hear better. There was a slight hitch in it, a quiver like he was crying, but no that wasn’t it. Bucky sat up and squinted at Steve, who was laying on his side facing the wall, his frame illuminated by the light of the lamppost that filtered in through the thin curtains. His whole body was shaking. Bucky stood up and reached over to feel Steve’s forehead which was much warmer than it should’ve been. Steve’s fever must’ve come back while he was sleeping. Bucky draped the blanket he’d been using over Steve and stood by the bed waiting, but there was no change—Steve was still shivering like crazy. Bucky wasn’t sure what to do. Maybe he should go get Mrs. Rogers? But it didn’t seem like there would be much else she could do. After a few more moments of deliberation, Bucky lifted the blankets and slipped underneath, scooching over until he was lying against Steve’s back, arms wrapped around him. A few nervous minutes later, Steve shivering slowed down, and Bucky was able to fall back asleep.

He was woken yet again by Steve mumbling something incoherently, Bucky couldn’t make out what it was, but Steve sounded distressed, frightened by something. At some point in the night, Steve had rolled over towards Bucky, so Bucky could see the fear etched into his face. He shook Steve’s shoulder gently.

“Steve, wake up,” he mumbled. “It’s just a nightmare. You’re fine. You’re safe here.”

Steve’s eyes blinked over and they looked glazed over. “Buck?” he asked, confused.

“Yeah, it’s Bucky. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Steve made a contented noise and buried his face into Bucky’s shoulder.

“Are you feeling better,” Bucky asked. “Warmer.”

Steve nodded slightly, and Bucky pulled away to go back to the floor.

“No,” Steve whined, fisting his hands into Bucky’s shirt and pulling him back towards him. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.” He held onto Bucky like Bucky was a rock on a cliff side and Steve was trying not to fall.

“Shhh,” Bucky said, moving back toward Steve. “I’m not going anywhere. Now go back to sleep.”


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's going to be sad, y'all, so fair warning.

Steve knew it was coming, he’d known for a while, and yet when it finally did happen, it still felt like a shock. Sarah’s illness had come out of nowhere and then stretched on and on like a wildfire the fire brigade couldn’t seem to get control of. She’d seemed fine to him until one day she wasn’t, though he often wondered if she’d been hiding her symptoms from him so he didn’t notice until it was too bad for him not to so that he didn’t have to worry about her. One night, just a few weeks after he’d turned 18, he woke to the sound of the bathroom door banging shut louder than usual. He waited a few minutes but he didn’t hear the door open again, so he got up to go check on his mom. He stood outside the bathroom, yellow light from under the door spilling out onto his pale feet, and knocked on the door.

“Mama?” he said. “Are you all right?”

The only response was the muffled sound of retching. Steve opened the door slowly and kneeled down behind his mother, pulling her hair back with one hand and rubbing the bottom of her neck with the other like she used to do for him when he was younger anytime he came down with a stomach bug.

When she had a moment to catch her breath, she said, “Steve, I’m okay. Go back to bed. You have work in the morning.”

Mr. McAndrews who ran the grocery store a few blocks over was a family friend and he had hired Steve to work in the store after he graduated from high school in the spring.

“It’s fine, mama,” he said, still rubbing her back. “I can afford to lose a little sleep. You used to do this for me when I was younger, now it’s my turn.”

Eventually, Sarah felt well enough to get back in bed and Steve brought her a glass of water and a wet rag for her forehead. It wasn’t long until he had to leave for work, but he promised that he’d come home during his lunch break and he asked their neighbor, Mrs. Leary, to check in on Sarah like she’d come over to Steve was doing when he was ill and Sarah had to go work in the hospital.

He hoped that it was just some 24-hour bug that she’d picked up at work, but a part of him knew that it wasn’t, that it was something worse. He’d never wished so much to be wrong about something in his life.

As the cloying city summer wore on, Sarah only got worse. She went to work when she could, but that was infrequently and often the other nurses would send her home before she could finish her shift. She wasn’t throwing up so much anymore, but she was tired all the time and too nauseous to eat much more than crackers and soup. Soon she was too weak to get out of bed for anything except trips to the bathroom. Steve could barely bring himself to look at her—her pale skin wrapped too tightly over her pointy bones in a way that looked painful. Steve took her to multiple doctors but they all said the same thing: we don’t know what’s wrong with her. The tests are inconclusive. Her body seems to be shutting down, but we don’t know why. I’m sorry, there isn’t anything more we can do other than give you something to keep her comfortable.

The waiting was awful. Watching her fade away knowing that she would never get better. The only somewhat good part of it was seeing how many people cared about his mother. Her neighbors, friends, and coworkers all pitched in to help take care of her and make sure she wasn’t alone for more than an hour or so at a time. And Bucky was over nearly every evening; him just being there helped more than Steve could say.

Steve shouldn’t have been surprised when it finally happened, and maybe he really wasn’t, but his heart still dropped to the floor when he opened his mom’s bedroom door that morning and she didn’t move at all. Her white blanket like a shroud on her unmoving chest.

“Mama?” he whispered, shaking her shoulder gently, but she was gone. He didn’t cry. Just leaned against the wall, sliding down it to the floor. He sat there for hours, trying to process losing his only family.

Steve might have stayed there all day if it wasn’t for Bucky. It was Sunday so he had off work at the docks, and he’d come over to check up on them. When no one answered the door, he’d let himself in with his spare key and found Steve sitting in the dark—he hadn’t even bothered to turn on the light. Bucky went over and sat beside Steve, wrapping his arms around him tightly.

“I’m so sorry, Steve,” he said, his breath rustling Steve’s hair.

The rest of the day went by in a blur. They already had plans in place so Steve just watched as they happened in front of him. Some men from the cemetery came and picked up his mother and carried her from the apartment in the simple wooden coffin Steve had chosen weeks ago. She was buried later that afternoon. It was just Steve and Bucky at the burial—the memorial service would be later in the week and more people would be invited, but Steve wanted this part to be smaller, quieter.

After the service was over, Steve and Bucky walked out of the cemetery and back toward the city. When it came time for them to part ways so that Bucky could go back to his family and Steve back to his apartment, Steve broke his silence for the first time that day.

“Bucky, I—” Steve started, “Could I maybe—I can’t—I just—”

“Steve,” Bucky interrupted “take a breath. What is it?”

Steve stared at the streetlamps that had just flicked on against the setting sun rather than looking at Bucky. “Do you think that I could spend the night at your place? I—It’s just that, I don’t think I can be there with her—” he couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

“Yeah, of course,” said Bucky. “My folks are always more than happy to have you. ’Sides, I wasn’t going to let you stay there by yourself anyway. I would’ve slept on your couch or something. I’m with you until the end of the line, you know that right?”

“Yeah, Buck,” said Steve, “I know.”

“Good,” Bucky said. “Now come on. Let’s get back before there isn’t any dinner left.”

 

Steve ends up staying with the Barnes for several nights. He doesn’t want to be a burden, but Mrs. Barnes insists.

“Of course you can stay, dear,” she tells him. “It’s no bother. You’re welcome here whenever you like. Besides,” she adds, giving Bucky a look, “for the number of nights Sarah put up with housing this one, this is the least I can do to return the favor.”

Then she hugs him and whispers, “I’m really sorry you had to lose her so soon. She was one of the good ones,” and Steve nearly loses it, but he doesn’t.

Staying with the Barnes is nice, if a bit strange. He’d stayed over a few times before, but mostly Bucky had come over to his house. Sleeping on the couch wasn’t bad, and everyone was extremely nice, but he could never quite get used to the noise of a big family. Steve had never had any siblings so he hadn’t understood how much noise three little sisters could make. Even in the middle of the night it wasn’t totally silent with people getting up and Mr. Barnes’s snoring that sounded like a faulty engine. But Steve sort of loved it. He loved how there was always someone around to talk to, and how much energy the kids had, and sitting around the dinner table bumping elbows and trading jokes that made everyone laugh, even Steve. It was easy to forget what he was missing in all of the clamor. But while he knew that the Barnes were family to him, it kept hitting him that his family, his tiny two-person-only family that had been his only family for the first half of his life, was gone now.

  


After the memorial service, Steve started looking for apartments. He’d been back to his once to grab some clothes and stuff, but he knew he couldn’t stay there anymore. That chapter of his life was over now, and it would feel weird to go back to living there now. The search was slow going. Steve didn’t have the money to be too picky, but he needed something that was close to work and wouldn’t get too cold in the winter, and ideally, he wanted something pre-furnished since the furniture in his mom’s place had come with the apartment and he couldn’t take it with him. Nothing he found came close to working for him, and he was starting to worry until Bucky came back from work at the docks one evening and tells Steve about this building that a one of his coworker’s brother-in-law owns that has an opening.

“I told some people about the apartment search,” Bucky explained, “Jeffry told me a bit about it and it seems close to perfect—fairly cheap, pre-furnished, it’s in a rougher part of town but it’s close to your work and mine—said we can come check it out in a half hour if you want.”

Steve agreed and the met up with Jeffry in front of the building later. He hadn’t been exaggerating about this not being the nicest of neighborhoods, but Steve didn’t have much for people to steal and despite his size, he could hold his own in a fight (though the last time he’d said this to Bucky, Bucky had laughed saying it wasn’t so much “holding his own” as a “belligerent refusal to ever admit defeat” but whatever) so he wasn’t too worried about it. The building wasn’t too much to look at and neither was the apartment. The whole thing was rather small and plain and could use with a good deal of dusting, but Steve didn’t need much and it did have all the basics. There was a decent enough kitchen, a living room that had a couch with only a few mysterious stains, a cramped bathroom, and a bedroom that had a window with a great view of the street. Steve couldn’t wait for a chance to sit out on the fire escape and sketch. The rent was a bit of a stretch, he’d saw a lot of beans and rice in his future, but he could swing it.

It was the best option by far, so he accepted the offer without any further delay. The next day was a rush of packing and cleaning. Mr. McAndrews lent Steve some of the boxes produce had been delivered in to pack his things, and Jeffry and a couple other guys from the docks came by later in the day with an automobile to help move everything to the new apartment. When Steve asked where he’d gotten the car he said he’d borrowed it from a friend who “owed him one” and refused to say more about it. Bucky mumbled “probably won in it a poker game” under his breath when Jeffry wasn’t paying attention.

Before Steve knew it, everything was packed and moved and the new place was filled with boxes. It was almost time for dinner so Steve offered to make the guys something as a thank you (they’d stopped at a grocery store while they were moving things so Steve had plenty of food to cook with) but they declined. They wanted to go out to a bar, and insisted that Steve didn’t owe them anything—his mom had help patch all of them or their families up at some point or another and had always done it with a smile on her face, they were just getting a chance to finally help her family out for once. Steve smiled and thanked them again. He loved seeing how much of an impact his mom had made, though he wished he hadn’t had to lose her to find out.

He and Bucky made a quick dinner and then started unpacking a little. They didn’t need to get it all done tonight, just enough so that Steve had a place to sleep. When the bedroom was nearly set up, it hit Steve all at once that soon it was just going to be him here all alone sleeping in a strange place. Asides from the occasional times that Sarah had taken a night shift, Steve had never spent a night on his own, and this time he didn’t have the promise that his mom would be back before he woke up. The shadows in the corners of the unfamiliar walls seemed to grow bigger.

“Well,” said Bucky, surveying the room, “I think that’s good enough for tonight.”

Steve’s pulse picked up in his ears creating a roar of noise. He wasn’t ready for Bucky to leave yet; if he left then this was real. Then Steve was alone.

“So,” Bucky continued, “I guess I’m going to go and—”

“Wait, Bucky.” The words blurted out of Steve’s mouth unintentionally. Bucky’s eyes widened and moved down to Steve’s hands which were trembling slightly at his sides. “Don’t go. Not right now okay? God, I’m sorry I’m being so needy, but it’s just that I’m not ready to be all alone without her.”

His breath was starting to catch and wheeze, getting so worked up was not good for his asthma and his lungs were punishing him for it.

“Shit, just,” Bucky said, glancing around the room looking fluster. “Just take a breath. Where is your inhaler? I didn’t see it when we were unpacking.”

Steve pointed at one of the smaller boxes that he had put by his bed to unpack later.

“Should be on top,” he said, stopping to catching his breath between every other word.

Bucky rummaged around until he found it and then tossed it to Steve. He walked over to stand by Steve and waited until his breath went back to normal before he explained.

“You know,” Bucky said, “when I said I was going to go and then you cut me off, I was going to say ‘I’m going to go set up the couch’. Because I’m staying here.”

Steve looked up at Bucky confused.

Bucky sighed. “For someone who’s normally pretty smart, you’re pretty stupid. I guess you missed the memo, but I was planning on moving in with you which is why I said Jeff had an apartment for _us_ if _we_ were interested. I was going to go look for a second bed tomorrow. I mean unless you don’t want me to stay?”

Steve took a minute to process. He did feel pretty stupid for not figuring it out.

“No, please stay,” Steve said. “That sounds great. I just didn’t think that you would want to move out from your parents’ place.”

Bucky smiled. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my folks and not having to pay rent is pretty sweet, but I’m ready to move out. ‘Sides, guys who live with their parents don’t get nearly as many girls as guys with a bachelor pad like this.”

Steve chuckled. “I should’ve figured that was the reason.”

A bit later they were sitting on the couch together, drinking a few beers to celebrate their new place. Steve scratched at the soggy edges of the label, lost in thought.

“What are you thinking about?” asked Bucky after they had sat in silence for a long while.

“Keeping thinking that it feels weird to be drinking in the apartment,” Steve said. “My mom would’ve never allowed it.”

They were quite for another moment before Steve started talking again.

“I—I really miss her,” he said, and a tear slipped out.

“I know,” Bucky said. “I miss her too.”

Bucky hesitated for a moment but then pulled Steve into a hug. Steve rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder and let himself cry for the first time.


	3. 3

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky half-shouted as he came into the apartment. Steve was in the bedroom but he could hear the thump of Bucky depositing his work boots and coats in a heap on the floor. “Me and some of the guys are going to Clarks later. You wanna come? Laura and Steph might me there again. You remember them, right? From math class senior year? I was talking to them last night…”

Steve sighed quietly as Bucky continued to prattle on in the other room, probably flopped across the couch. He was at his desk working on a sample of the sign Mr. Gruff wanted him to paint for the hardware shop. Steve was still working at the grocery store, but he got jobs painting banners and drawing up flyers and things like that from time to time to help make up for the time he inevitably had to take off as sick days.

He wasn’t trying to be rude by ignoring what Bucky was saying, it was just all the same nowadays. He was going out later to some bar, Steve should come with, it would be fun because of some girls Bucky had met before who might be back or the potential of new girls to dance with plus booze and the guys from the docks. Steve had been open to it the first dozen times, but it had lost its thrill. Bucky would hang out with Steve at the bar at first, but he also wanted to talk to his other friends who, while not out-right rude to Steve, didn’t have a whole lot in common with him, so they didn’t talk much, plus Bucky wanted to find a girl to dance with, and frankly, Steve wasn’t great wingman material, so Steve usually ended up sitting at the bar alone nursing his drink. Sometimes Bucky tried to set him up with someone to dance with but it never went well. It didn’t bother him too much that none of the girls they met were interested in him (well, okay, it bothered him a little, but he was only human); he knew he wasn’t much of a looker nor was he great at talking to girls, so he figured that if we was ever going to find a girl to date they’d have to get to know each other better than a first-glance impression and bars were a bit too loud for that. What really bothered him was the way they hung all over Bucky. It wasn’t surprising really, since Bucky was what every girl was looking for: tall, lean but still muscular from hauling cargo all day, with dark hair and a strong jawline that gave him a handsome, almost mysterious look counteracted by warm eyes and an easy-going smile, plus he was a huge smooth-talker, but it still got under Steve’s skin for some reason.

Tonight was the fourth night in a row that Bucky had gone out, which was more than he usually did. He’d been going more and more often recently. At first it was just some weekend nights then he started going on weekday nights from time to time and then it slowly built up to the point where Bucky was going out more nights than he was going in. Normally he’d mention his plans as soon as he got home from work or early in the day on weekends but sometimes now when Bucky did stay home they’d just be hanging out in the apartment talking or whatever and all of the sudden Bucky would just get up and announce that he was leaving. Steve wasn’t trying to be needy or a nag or anything, but he wished Bucky wouldn’t go out so often. Partially because it was eating up a lot of Bucky’s income, which Steve shouldn’t complain about since Bucky paid his fair share or rent and groceries, but it would be nice to save some up in case of emergency, and Steve was too used to having to be on a tight budget to stomach that sort of spending. And partially it was because Steve just missed having Bucky around in the evenings. He barely saw him anymore except for the hour or so Bucky rested after work and weekend mornings. He missed sitting on the couch together, catching up with what happened at work that week and then just the quiet company while Steve drew and Bucky listened to the radio or while they both read. Maybe it made him boring but Steve preferred a night in of not doing much to an eventful night spent at a bar.

Steve put the finishing touches on his sketch then went out into the living room to say hello to Bucky.

“Hey,” Bucky said. He was lying on the couch with his head on one armrest and the crook of his knees on the other with his feet dangling over the side, just like Steve had expected he would be. “So, you coming tonight?”

“No,” Steve said, shaking his head. “I’ll pass this time.”

“Come on,” Bucky said, “You never come anymore. It’ll be fun.”

There was something off about the way Bucky said it. He was lacking all his usual charm and persuasiveness. Did Bucky not want him to come? Or maybe he just wasn’t trying too hard because he already knew Steve would say no? Steve pushed the thoughts away; he was probably reading too much into it.

“No thanks, Buck,” Steve said. “I’m just going to stay here, maybe work on my sketches some more.”

“Just this once,” Bucky said. “Come tonight and then I won’t bug you about it for the rest of the month. I hardly ever see you anymore.”

Steve’s fists balled up at his sides. Yeah, well, whose fucking fault is  _ that,  _ Bucky? Steve rubbed his thumbs on the sides of his pointer fingers trying to get rid of some of the tension in his hands.

“You could always stay here tonight,” Steve said.

Bucky bit the inside of the left side of his bottom lip and chewed on it like he always did when uncertain and trying to figure out his next move. It was a subtle tell, one that Steve only noticed after knowing Bucky for years, but it was enough to let Steve know that Bucky felt just as lost and uncomfortable in this conversation as Steve did. Damn, Steve missed being kids and having their friendship be as easy as breathing.

“No,” Bucky said, after a long pause. “I promised the guys I would meet them at Clark’s.” Bucky nodded slowly as if trying to reassure himself about that decision.

“Okay,” said Steve, already moving back to the bedroom. “Well, have fun then. Tell the guys I say hey.”

 

The next night goes exactly the same: Bucky gets home, throws his shoes down, heads to the couch, and starts regaling Steve with the story of how amazing Clark’s was and how Steve just had to go and how there were a ton of girls there and there would be more tonight because the bar was having a ladies night with discounts on cocktails. Steve had been hoping that Bucky might be too tired to go out again, it was Friday after all, and usually by Friday nights Bucky was exhausted from a full week of manual labor. But as they say, hope for the best and plan for the worst, and Steve was prepared. This whole thing was getting ridiculous, and he wasn’t above bribery. It was time for Operation Get Bucky to Stay Here and Figure Out Why the Hell He’s Acting So Weird. It wasn’t the best operation name ever, but whatever. He just needed it to work.

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve said, walking quickly to the kitchen so that Bucky wouldn’t have a chance to interject with information about his plans tonight. “Look what I got at work today!”

Steve held up the bag of red apples he’d gotten for free at the grocery store because they were old and bruised up. They’d still taste good, they just didn’t look very pretty. The other ingredients had cost a bit more than Steve really wanted to spend, but hopefully, it would be worth it.

“It was thinking we could make pie,” Steve continued. “I haven’t had apple pie since the last time my ma made it, and I found her recipe book so I thought we could give it a try.”

Steve felt somewhat guilty using his mother’s death as a guilt trip to get Bucky to stay here, but his mom cared a lot about Bucky and would probably be worried about him too, so Steve figured it was all right just this once.

Bucky sat up on the couch and chewed his lip.

“Could we make it tomorrow?” Bucky asked, after a moment’s pause. “It’s just that I told the guys I would be there, and I don’t want them to worry.”

Steve shook his head. “I got the apples for free because they were old. They’ll be fine for tonight, but I’m not sure they’ll hold up ‘til tomorrow, and I’d hate for them to go to waste. Apple season’s nearly over, you know.”

Bucky nodded but didn’t say anything.

“Besides,” Steve continued, “I’m sure your friends won’t be too worried. They’ll probably just think you came home and fell asleep on the couch. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Bucky nodded again, worrying his lip to the point that Steve wanted to reach out and pull it from between Bucky’s teeth. Maybe run his thumb over it to soothe the stinging. He shook the image away—what a strange thought.

“You know what,” Bucky said, standing suddenly, “you’re right. The guys will be fine. And who am I to say no to your mom’s pie recipe. God, that stuff was amazing.”

Steve chuckled. “Yeah, Ma always made sure that she and I had a piece before you came over because otherwise we might not get a chance to have any.”

Bucky walked over to the kitchen and shoved Steve’s shoulder with the side of his arm.

“I never ate more than two pieces, you little punk.”

“Oh, no, of course not,” Steve said. “Though if you cut a pie in half, that is technically only two—”

Bucky swatted Steve with a dish towel that was on top of the counter, then jumped up to sit on the countertop.

“Okay,” Bucky said, “enough teasing. How do we start?”

Steve frowned at Bucky’s choice of seating—his mother would never have allowed that—but decided to let it go. He grabbed a cutting board and knife and set it to Bucky’s left, and put a mixing bowl next to those to make the dough in.

“You can get started on cutting up and peeling the apples. I’ll start working on the crust.”

They traded stories while they worked, catching each other up on all the interesting things that had happened to them over the last few weeks. Bucky told him about the bet between Jeffry, George, and John about who could carry the most boxes in one day that had lasted for almost a week because they kept losing count and demanding rematches and had resulted in multiple injuries, dropped crates, and damaged cargo before their boss had found out what was going on and told them to knock it off. Bucky cut up the apples while he talked, back curved in a way that looked uncomfortable, so he could use the cutting board that sat beside his left leg. Steve thought it would be easier if Bucky would stand and face the counter like Steve was, but somehow Bucky made the unusual position look casual, legs relaxed and dangling over the cabinets and looking at Steve who was standing to his left rather than at the apples most of the time. Steve kneaded the dough and stole bits of apple when he thought Bucky wasn’t looking. They were too sweet to resist, and they still had more than enough for the pie.

Steve told Bucky about the old lady who had just moved to Brooklyn and inexplicably came to the grocery store every day at the exact same time to buy a single pear. When Steve had suggested that she buy a dozen pears so that she wouldn’t have to come in everyday and so she could get a discount, she’d told him, “but I don’t need a  _ dozen _ pears. I couldn’t eat that many in a day; I just need the one.”

Bucky suggested that she was coming in to flirt with Steve, and Steve frowned.

“She’s old enough to be my grandmother,” Steve said.

“Look at you getting an older women,” Bucky said. “What a player.”

Steve scoffed and threw a small ball of dough at Bucky, which bounced off his forehead.

“Oh it’s on,” Bucky said, reaching into the sack of flour that Steve had open and grabbing a pinch to throw at Steve’s face.

They threw bits of flour at each other until both of them had white powder all over their shirts, faces, and speckled in their hair. Steve got some up his nose which sparked a string of sneezes and then called a truce. Bucky grabbed the dish towel and brushed himself off, and then tossed it to Steve to do the same. When they’d cleaned up most of the mess, they went back to working on the pie.

“Hold still a second,” Steve said, noticing a clump of flour above Bucky’s right eyebrow. He moved so that he was standing right in front of Bucky, reached up, and brushed it away so that it wouldn’t fall into Bucky’s eye later. Bucky when stiff when Steve touched him, meeting his eyes and staring intently, Steve’s hand slowed as the air around them shifted from comfortable to something else. He took a half step backward and lowered his hand.

“You had some flour,” he said, trying to diffuse the tension.

Bucky broke eye contact. “Uh, thanks,” he said, jumping down from the counter. Steve was still standing right in front of him and now they were cramped together, Bucky took a few quick steps out of the kitchen.

“You’ve got this from here, right?” Bucky asked, not looking at Steve while he hastily stuffed his feet into his work boots and grabbed his coat off the rack. “I just remembered. I gotta go. I, uh, I told Becca that I’d help her with this school project, and I totally forgot. She’s gonna be pissed if I don’t show up.”

Steve glanced over at the clock. It was already quarter to ten, which, while not late by Bucky’s standards, seemed too late to be heading to his family’s apartment.

“Isn’t it a bit late for that?” Steve asked. “Maybe you should wait tomorrow. I’m sure Becca would understand.”

“Nah,” Bucky said, “She’ll probably still be up, and if not, I’ll just head to the bar. It’s on the way back from there. Don’t wait up.”

“Wait,” Steve said, “this is crazy. What’s going on with you?”

Bucky didn’t answer, just grabbed his wallet from the counter and headed towards the door.

“Please don’t go,” Steve said, quietly. He knew Bucky wouldn’t listen, but he couldn’t help himself from asking.

Bucky was halfway out the door when he paused to look back at Steve. “Save me a piece, all right?” And then he was gone.

Steve stared at closed door bewildered. What had just happened? “All right,” he said to no one.

 

God, he was fucking this all up. Bucky sprinted down the stairs into the alley, pausing in the bottom of the stairwell trying to compose himself a bit. He didn’t want to rush out onto the sidewalk looking like he was losing his mind. He ran his hands through his hair, tugging on the ends for a few seconds before he let go. He didn’t want to go out tonight, not really. He was so damn tired and going back to sitting on the kitchen counter catching up with Steve and eating apple pie sounded so much nicer than walking through the chilly November night to a grimy bar with beer served in dirty cups and music that Bucky can’t stand. Plus the guys from the docks weren’t exactly conversationalists and any communication he had with a girl was 95% flirting. He felt like he hadn’t actually had the chance to really talk to anyone in weeks. And it was all his own goddamn fault.

But he couldn’t do it. He wanted to, but staying there alone with his best friend who had flour in his hair and was laughing like he hadn’t in a while, his insanely blue eyes sparkling and his lips smiling widely, they looked soft and like they would taste sweet from the chunks of raw apple Steve couldn’t resist snacking on while he cooked. Bucky pounded his fist into the brick beside the door. Stop it, he scolded himself. He was pretty sure lusting after someone you shouldn’t was a sin, besides there wasn’t any point in thinking like that, not when Steve wasn’t like that, didn’t feel that way. Bucky felt like shit for even wanting Steve to feel that way considering that they could never really be together at least not how Bucky would want them to be. It would have to be a secret and Bucky didn’t want to pull Steve into that shit.

Bucky shook his head and pushed his way out of the door, letting the cold air numb the stinging of his knuckles from where they’d split open on the bricks. He walked faster, trying to clear his head. God, he needed a drink.


	4. 4

They were in art class when they first heard. The classical music station the teacher had put on the radio to play while they worked on their paintings was interrupted with urgent news about Pearl Harbor. Steve's stomach sank to his knees, and he nearly dropped he was holding. They’d be going to war, then. At least that’s what the people on the news were saying, and it made sense. They’d been on the precipice for a long time now, and Japan had just pulled us over the edge. And Steve knew right then how it was going to turn out: Bucky would go overseas to fight and Steve wouldn’t be there by his side to fight with him like he should be. Steve wasn’t stupid, he knew they would never take him, they wouldn’t get past the first condition on his medical record before they disqualified him. Hell, they might not even get that far, they might just reject him on size alone. But Bucky, well Bucky would get through in a heartbeat. There wasn’t a thing wrong with him. So Steve would be here left here alone to worry and wait to see when he’d get to see his best friend again, or worse if he’d get to see him at all.

The first time they went to enlist, they stood in line in an uncomfortable silence. They knew, they both knew, but neither would say it. Bucky tried to look confident and not fiddle with anything in a way that would give away the nervous energy surrounding him like a fog. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and forced himself to keep them there. He glanced at Steve, five-foot-nothing, maybe 100 pounds, scraggly Steve who stood with his chin held high, shoulders squared, and determination brewing in his eyes. Even though he knew it was all a front, Bucky wished he could look that confident right now. The line moved forwards towards the enlistment office, and Bucky’s pulse spiked. He knew what was about to happen and they were scared shitless. He wasn’t naïve enough to think that this war was going to be anything less than horrifying. He wasn’t going to romanticize the notion of fighting and potentially dying for his country; there was nothing beautiful about shooting people or getting shot. Either he died in this war or came back wounded and changed. He understood that, but he couldn’t not go. He thought of his parents, his little sisters, of  _ Steve,  _ and knew that he had to go fight to help protect their home and to help save some of the innocent lives being taken overseas. So he pushed down the ribbon of dread twisting and curling inside him, and stood up straighter.

Bucky walked out of the office, enlistment papers in hand, and Steve joined him a few minutes later with nothing other than a hung head. Bucky couldn’t help the relief that swept through him upon seeing Steve’s empty hands. He’d never really thought that they would take Steve, his asthma alone was enough to disqualify him let alone the rest of it, but he hadn’t been able to squash the bit of nervousness about it. If anyone was going to be able to convince the enlistment officers to let them join the army despite major health issues, it would be Steve. He wanted to say something to comfort Steve, but he knew that anything he said would just come off as condescending. Even if Steve had been expecting it, Bucky knew the rejection must have come as a slap in the face, confirming Steve’s biggest fear: that he was too weak to be useful.

The disparaging look on Steve’s face made Bucky want to shake his shoulders until he saw reason. He wanted to tell Steve that just because he couldn’t go to war, didn’t make him weak, or useless, or less of a man, or any of the bullshit Bucky knew he was thinking. There would be other ways for Steve to help the war effort without getting shot at. Like he had many times before, he wished that Steve could see himself the way Bucky saw him, but he knew that it would never happen. In two weeks, Bucky would be leaving for basic training, and Steve would stay behind to face the shame of being left behind while all the other guys their age shipped off.

And Bucky may never see him again.

  
  


Every day of the next two weeks was awkward. The topic had been brought up briefly several times then quickly dropped. Neither of them knew what to say, how to handle being apart after being together for so long, or how to wrap their minds around the concept of war. Mostly they played at everything being normal. They both went to work, came home and made small talk about work, and went out most nights to bars or on double dates Bucky had organized for them. Bucky scrambled to find ways to fill their evenings so that they could be together, but not be stuck in the apartment with the ever-ticking countdown clock to his departure hanging over their heads. The more time they spent out, the more time Bucky could pretend that he wasn’t leaving, and not be as tempted to tell Steve how he felt. He’d nearly done it twice already, building up his resolve, starting a conversation, then quickly dropping it when his confidence fizzled away. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them if he said something now. If Steve didn’t reciprocate his feelings, then Bucky would have made their friendship extra awkward for no reason. And if by some miracle Steve did feel the same way, then it would make it even harder for Bucky to leave, and he didn’t think he could handle that. So instead he said nothing and the days ticked away too quickly until it was the night before his departure.

They’d come back fairly early from the bar Bucky had brought them to. He was too anxious to enjoy the music and dancing, the couple drinks he had not nearly enough to settle his nerves. Eventually, he’d called it quits; he didn’t want to get drunk and be hungover for his first day, and he knew if he stayed out he’d be tempted to drink until he felt calm which probably wouldn’t have come until he was blackout drunk. So it was only eight when they got home and they didn’t normally go to bed until after ten, so there was time to kill in the apartment and neither of them knew how to fill it.

Steve was sitting in his bed sketching, but Bucky could tell from how frequently Steve paused and just stared at the paper that Steve wasn’t feeling it. Bucky was working on packing. He didn’t need to bring much, so he finished after just a few minutes and then started unpacking then repacking so he’d have something to do. The air in the room felt thick in his lungs, the way it did when he was outside right before a summer storm and the humidity was sweltering. He could feel Steve glancing up every few moments to look at him which only made it harder to breathe. Maybe if he just said something, things wouldn’t be as tense, but he had no clue what to say. Hopefully I won’t die in the war and you won’t die of tuberculosis or something while I’m gone and we will be able to see each other again? Somehow he didn’t think that would go over very well.

He took everything out of his bag and put it back in another three times before Steve interrupted him.

“Buck,” he said, softly enough that it was almost a whisper, “I think that’s good, don’t you?”

Bucky followed Steve’s gaze to the bag on the floor and was hit with a pang of guilt. His stalling technique was by no means subtle.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, going to sit on the edge of his bed so he wouldn’t be tempted to unpack anymore, “guess so.”

Steve closed his sketchbook and set it down on the bed beside him then turned to face Bucky.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow,” Steve said.

“Me either,” Bucky said, surprised by Steve’s statement. Were they actually going to talk about this now? “Two weeks went a lot fast than I thought they would.”

Steve nodded, staring down at his hands, not saying anything. Maybe they weren’t going to talk about it after all. Bucky glanced at the clock on the wall, only 9:15, but maybe he should just go to bed now anyway. It seemed unlikely that he’d get much sleep, but at least then he could pretend to be asleep and things would hopefully be less awkward.

“Umm, well,” Bucky said, getting up to head to the bathroom, “I guess I’m going to get ready for—”

“Don’t go,” Steve blurted, eyes widening like he had surprised himself by saying that.

“What?” Bucky asked.

“Just.” Steve paused, searching for the words. “You told me a bunch of times that there are other ways to help here. You meant that, right? You could stay and we could help make ammunition or whatever. Just, please, just don’t go.”

Bucky had started shaking his head halfway through Steve’s speech and kept doing it.

“Don’t ask me that,” he said, turning to face away from Steve so he didn’t have to see the look on Steve’s face.

Steve stood up and took a few tentative steps towards him. “But, Bucky—”

“Please,” said Bucky, turning to face Steve and putting his hands on Steve’s shoulders so that Steve would look him in the eyes. “It’s not fair. You can’t ask me to do that. It’s not fair.”

He dropped his hands and took a few step back.

“I need a smoke,” Bucky said, grabbing a cigarette and going out onto the fire escape so he wouldn’t aggravate Steve’s asthma.

It took him a few tries to light the damn thing with his shaking hands, and when he did he took a long drag, holding the smoke in his lungs for as long as he could before he let it out. He stared out over the streets of Brooklyn, the only city he’d ever lived in. The thought of staying here in his home with Steve was so tempting, but he couldn’t let himself dwell on it. He’d agreed to this. They didn’t draft him, he enlisted; he’d made a promise to serve, and he was damn well going to keep it.

He heard Steve duck out the window behind him but didn’t turn to face him. Steve sat down next to him, bare feet dangling over the edge of the metal.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said. “You’re right. That wasn’t a fair thing for me to ask of you.”

“It’s all right,” Bucky said. He knew if it was the other way around, he would’ve been tempted to ask the same thing.

They sat out there for a long silent against the sounds of the city, just drinking in each other’s presence.

“I’m going to miss you,” Steve whispered his confession into the cold night’s air.

Bucky tapped his cigarette against the railing, watching the small red ember that fell from it float down to the street below. Then he turned his head to meet Steve’s eyes.

“I’m going to miss you too.”


	5. 5

The thing about being certain you’re going to die, but not being able to do anything about it is that there’s a lot of waiting involved. Bucky has always been good at waiting. When he was younger, his mother would get frustrated with him for being too energetic and curious to stand still, but when it was important, when he really needed to, he could hone in on the calm, quiet center and wait. It was what made him such a perfect sniper. Some of the other guys in the 107 had pointed out how strange it was to see the usually boisterous, talkative Bucky Barnes go into battle mode at the flip of a switch and become steely silent and unmoving for hours at a time. But this time, Bucky was finding it harder to stay focused and keep his wits about him. When they’d first come for him, he didn’t fight back. He knew they’d just shoot him and find someone else to take his spot as their science experiment. Instead, he let them lead him through the building to the lab, waiting for an opportunity to present itself. But with whatever they’d pumped into him coursing through his veins, he was pretty sure it was too late. They’d put him in restraints, injected him, and then left; it seemed unlikely that there was going to be a chance for him to escape. The spot where they injected him burned, and as the liquid spread through his body it scalded him from the inside out, making every muscle, every nerve feel like it was on fire. The pain seemed to go on for ages, then dwindled away slowly, leaving his body hollow and his head swimming. The walls spun spotted with weird swirly colors, and when he tried to move his hands to tug at the restraints, he could barely move his fingers they were so heavy. Maybe if he just waited a bit longer, he’d be strong enough, but the thought kept coming back: none of the others had survived this; he probably wouldn’t either.

He drifted in and out of consciousness, uncertain of how much time had passed and hoping that the fact that the injection hadn’t killed him yet was a good sign. When he heard Steve’s voice calling his name, his heart jumped and then immediately sank. Hallucinations seemed like an indication that he was getting worse rather than better, but it was still so nice to hear his voice. If he had to die, at least it was nice to hear Steve say his name one last time. Steve’s face came into Bucky’s view.

“Steve,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve said, “it’s me.”

But it wasn’t Steve. Or maybe not quite Steve was a better way to put it. His voice was the same as always, same hair, same absurdly blue eyes, but everything else was different. His face was less sunken, his skin had lost its pallor, and he was so much bigger. And that was even accounting for the strange star-studded outfit. He’d rather have  _ his _ Steve, the one with scraggly limbs and a crooked spine, though he did have to admit that this Steve was pretty hot.

“I thought you were dead,” Steve said, pulling Bucky from his thoughts.

“Well,” Bucky said, “I thought you were smaller.”

Steve broke the restraints with his shield and helped Bucky up off the table. His hands were warm and sturdy, and Bucky was caught off guard by the vividness of this crazy dream. It felt so real, but it couldn’t be, could it? More likely his subconscious had created this super-human version of Steve to save him from his reality. But he let himself lean into Steve’s shoulder and steady himself since the room was still spinning slightly and his body still felt heavy enough to drag him to the ground. Dream or no dream it was better to be with Steve.

 

Walking with Bucky’s arm slung over his shoulders as a means of support rather than just as a friendly gesture felt incredibly strange. He’d just been getting used to being this size and now he felt like it was the first day all over again. Bucky had to keep glancing up to look at him. Up. It was so strange, but having Bucky back at his side, especially after thinking he’d lost him, made Steve feel whole in a way he hadn’t in months. He wasn’t himself without Bucky.

“I’m still half convinced that you’re a hallucination,” said Bucky, speaking for the first time in an hour. He was walking steadier and leaning on Steve less, so maybe he was starting to feel better after whatever the hell Hydra did to him. A flash of rage struck him when he thought about it, but he pushed it away.

“Honestly,” Steve said, “sometimes I have a hard time believing this is real too. Life has gotten pretty strange.”

They walked quietly for a minute before Bucky spoke again.

“I suppose if anyone was going to find a way to be made into a giant super soldier just to enlist in the army, it would be you.”

They walk back to the base in silence, Bucky’s feet dragging at the ground by the end, too tired to do more than shuffle. Steve drops him off at the infirmary and goes to deal with the repercussions of his actions. It was mid-morning when they got back, but wasn’t until the evening that Steve was finished with his debriefing. It had been a draining day, but the commander couldn’t be too mad at Steve for not following orders considering how many people he had helped save, so it had gone better than he had expected it to. They’d eaten dinner while they were there discussing the intel Steve had gained from the Hydra base, so when they dismissed for the night, Steve went straight to the infirmary to check on Bucky.

When he opened the flap to the large tent, he spotted the nurse he’d left Bucky with that morning and went to talk to her.

“Hi,” Steve said, “is Bucky still here? How’s he doing?”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself,” she said, gesturing to a bed at the far end of the tent. “He’s up and impatient to leave, but I assumed that you would come back here looking for him, so I made him stay. He seems fine, just tired. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more, but honestly, I have no idea what Hydra injected him with or what the effects might be. Just keep an eye on him and let me know if anything changes.”

Steve nodded and thanked her for her help before walking over to Bucky’s cot. Bucky was sitting up against the pillow, left leg planted on the floor and his right stretched out on top of the sheets, somehow striking the perfect balance between relaxed and ready to bolt at any second.

“Hey,” Bucky said, “please tell me you’re here to spring me from this joint. I’ve been stuck in here all day.”

Steve and Bucky walked out of the tent and through the twilight-covered camp side by side. Bucky was still dragging behind—he’d only slept for a couple hours in the infirmary which surprised Steve not at all, Bucky had always been fundamentally opposed to napping, said you missed out on too much when you slept while others were awake—but refused to lean on Steve for support. The others were already shooting him questioning looks after finding out he was the only one to survive Hydra’s experiments, and Steve knew Bucky didn’t want to encourage the talk by looking weak.

When they got to Steve’s tent, Bucky immediately flopped down onto the cot, stretching out in his typical languid, cat-like way that calmed Steve down a bit. Whatever Hydra did to Bucky, he was still  _ Bucky _ . He nudged Bucky’s feet over and sat down at the foot of the bed.

“Did it hurt?” Bucky asked, muffling a yawn with the back of his hand.

“Did what hurt?” Steve said.

“You know,” Bucky said, gesturing at Steve, “when they turned you into a giant.”

Steve chuckled. “I’m hardly a giant. You’re just ticked off because I’m taller than you now.”

Bucky huffed a breath out of his nose and shot Steve a look.

“Yeah by like two inches maybe. You never answered my question.”

Steve sighed, rubbed at his eye with the bottom of his palm, then moved that hand back through his cropped hair.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “It hurt. It hurt a lot, actually.” He shook his head, staring at the side of the tent as he thought about the crazy transformation. “But then afterward, it was crazy, I didn’t feel one speck of pain. Though maybe whatever the pumped into me made me immune to pain right up to the point when I crashed through a glass window.”

“Always knew you were in more pain than you let on,” Bucky mumbled, and the two fell into a somber silence.

“It’s all been weird,” Steve said, scrambling to lighten the atmosphere. “At first, I kept forgetting about it and then I’d see my reflection or my hands or something and be surprised all over again. Also, I kept running into stuff. I can’t even tell you how many times I hit my head getting into an automobile or bumped into the doorway. I’m pretty sure some of the showgirls thought I had a drinking problem.”

Bucky roared a laugh, throwing his head back and everything, and Steve couldn’t help but laugh with him.

“Well,” Bucky said, once he pulled himself back together enough to talk again. “It’s clear that the serum didn’t do anything to cure your two left feet.”

“Yeah, and the army clearly didn’t do anything to make you less of a jerk,” Steve joked back.

“And don’t you forget it,” Bucky said, with a chuckle. “So,” he said, turning serious again, “what’s been the hardest thing getting used to? The height thing?”

Steve shook his head. “That took some adjusting, but actually the weirdest thing has been the vision thing. I’m not color-blind anymore. It’s sort of distracting, but, Bucky,” a huge smile broke out on his face and his words sped up with excitement, “there are so many more colors than I thought. It’s all so amazing. I saw green for the first time and red and purple, and I could see blue before but there are a ton of different shades of it that are new to me. Like your eyes, I always thought they were just blue, but now I can see bits of green in them,” he paused, distracted. “They’re lighter than I thought.”

Bucky snorted. “If you want to see light blue eyes, you should look in a mirror. Yours are practically translucent.”

They sat there, staring at each other. The air felt heavy around them, but it was different from the somberness earlier, it felt more awake than that like it was charged with energy. Steve started subconsciously moving closer to Bucky.

Bucky stood up quickly, pulling his legs in as he moved them to the floor so he wouldn’t kick Steve.

“I should probably go,” Bucky said. “It’s late, and the nurse said I should rest up.”

“Wait,” Steve said, taken aback by the sudden shift. “Don’t go. Do you even know what tent you’re meant to sleep in tonight? You’d have to go find someone to tell you your assignment and everyone’s probably already asleep and going to be annoyed to be woken up for that. Why don’t you just sleep here? Just for tonight.”

Bucky hesitated near the tent flap thinking through Steve’s statement, but unable to find fault in it.

“Okay,” he said. “Just for tonight.” He glanced around the tent. “Do you have a spare sleeping roll? I can take the ground; I’m so tired, I could sleep in a bed of rocks if I had to.”

“No,” Steve said, shaking his head, “I don’t. But it’s not a big deal. We can just share the cot. I don’t mind. It’s no different than it was in winters in the apartment.”

“You’re a lot bigger than you were then,” Bucky muttered, failing to cover a huge yawn. “Oh, whatever. Okay.”

Steve stood up and pulled back the covers so he could crawl under, and Bucky flopped down beside him. Bucky fell asleep within seconds of his head hitting the pillow, but it took Steve a while longer. As he laid there, back to back with his best friend, not touching but close enough to feel the warmth coming off his skin, he took comfort in hearing his steady breathing and knowing that he hadn’t lost Bucky after all.

 

Months later, after Zurich and the train, Steve lay awake at nights, thinking back to that night of having Bucky right there beside him just like when they were kids. Steve would have given anything to have him back, to have him that close to him again, even once. When he slept, he dreamt of mountains and trains and snow and Bucky falling over and over again. With himself in the background screaming, begging for Bucky to hang on a little longer so Steve could pull him back into the train. Pleading with Bucky to not leave him here alone. Every time he woke up freezing; the kind of cold that no number of blankets could fix.


	6. +1

When Steve flew the plane into the ice, he never expected to wake up from it, let alone wake up 70 years into the future. Sometimes he wondered that if he had known at the time what would happen if he still would’ve done it. It only took him a few minutes of contemplation to decide that, yes, he would have. No matter what, it was worth it to save all those people. But still a part of him felt like there had to be some reason for all this. There had to be some grand thing needed of him in the 21 st century that would justify him being here all alone with pretty much everyone he knew dead or close to it.

Sure, the future was filled with problems that needed to be solved and fights that needed to be won, but no matter how many invading aliens or crazed supervillains he helped take down, it didn’t feel like enough to justify him being there. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they could’ve handled this without him and he could’ve stayed in that ice, making the soldier’s sacrifice like so many others had. Whenever that thought got too insistent, he went to visit Peggy in the nursing home. Somehow seeing the way her face lit up every time she found out that he wasn’t dead made things both better and worse.

At night, he dreamt of Bucky falling, again, again, and again; Steve had seen Bucky fall so many times that he’d lost count. He wondered if the dream would ever become tedious, if he would wake up unfazed rather than screaming and reaching for someone not there. Part of him ached for it, to be able to sleep without waking up devastated all over again, but another part of him knew that if reliving his best friend’s death stopped bothering him, that he was in big trouble. Other nights he dreamt of slowly freezing to what he thought was death in the plane submerged so deep underwater that Steve couldn’t see anything. Peggy had asked him once in a moment of lucidity about what had happened after their coms had cut out, and he’d lied and said he was knocked out when the plane hit the water. It seemed better that she didn’t know that he remembered every second of what felt like hours, losing feeling starting in his fingers and toes and sinking up towards his chest until he felt like he couldn’t breeze and eventually passed out. It was better she didn’t know about the creeping cold he could never quite get rid of.

When the Winter Soldier’s mask fell off, it felt like a punishment. Like the universe was finally getting back at him for letting Bucky fall in the first place, for not jumping after him. Especially now, he knew he would never forgive himself for not jumping after him. For not stopping Hydra from turning his best friend into a brainwashed weapon. He couldn’t go back in time, but he could fix this now. It made sense now, in a sick, twisted way he was here in this time. He was here to save Bucky, but the pervasive cold that lived in the back of his mind whispered that the only way to save Bucky might be to put him out of his misery.

Steve thought he was ready for that possibility when he stepped on to the helicarrier. Sam had a point in what he said earlier about how the Winter Soldier might be the kind you stopped rather than saved, and rationally, Steve understood. This was not  _ his _ Bucky. It was just the shell of him and there was no way to know if there was anything left of the Bucky he knew or how to get him to remember. And if Steve did somehow manage to break through 70 years of Hydra experimentation, would it be kinder to kill him than make him face all the blood on his hands? None of it was Bucky’s fault, but Steve knew him well enough to know that Bucky would blame himself.

But when it came to the actual fight, rationality flew out the window. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, to take the life of the person who matters most to him and go back to being all alone here, trying to find a place in this world that had outgrown him. Screw doing the right thing, this time he was going to be selfish, even if that meant making Bucky carry the weight of Steve’s blood on his hands.

“I’m with you ‘til the end of the line,” Steve said, like Bucky had said to him all those years ago. He hoped that there was enough of that Bucky left to understand what Steve was trying to tell him. Then he let himself fall.

Steve woke up when his head hit the sand, feeling dazed and confused. There was smoke in the air and the water splashed violently as the machinery that had fallen into it fell to the bottom. A rustle of footsteps sounded from behind him and it came rushing back to him. Bucky must have saved him. He wanted to call out for him, to ask him to come back, but he couldn’t get his lips to part before his world fizzled out to black.

 

Steve spent every second of his spare time over the next six months looking for Bucky. Sam was right there beside him, helping with the search as well as keeping Steve from burning out by reminding him to take care of himself. They’d gotten close a few times now, getting tips from the few SHIELD agents they still trusted. A month ago, Steve had come as close as being able to catch a glimpse of Bucky running from the building they’d found out he’d been squatting in. If Bucky heard Steve calling him, asking him not to run, he didn’t respond to it. They hadn’t heard anything after that. No one had seen him or even heard rumors about a man with a metal arm. Bucky was lying low. Steve was trying to not get too discouraged, but it was hard coming so close and not finding him. Natasha had gently suggested that maybe Bucky just wasn’t ready to be found. That he needed time to heal before he’d before he came back. Steve had left the room before he said something to her he couldn’t take back.

The hard part was, he knew she was right. Bucky knew Steve was looking for him, and it wouldn’t have been hard for Bucky to figure out that Steve was staying in New York in the Avenger’s Tower if Bucky had wanted to come find him. So when Sam told him that someone spotted Bucky crashing in an abandoned warehouse in Brooklyn, Steve reluctantly put his new plan to action. He waited until the middle of the night when he was fairly certain Bucky would be sleeping and snuck up to the building to slip a note through one of the broken windows on the side of the building where Bucky has reportedly been sleeping. He drew his shield on the front of it, so Bucky would definitely notice it.

_ Hey Bucky, _

_ Sorry I’ve been chasing you around over the past seven months or so; it felt like the right thing to do at the time. But I’m going to back off now. Please don’t think that this means that I don’t want to see you, because I do, I really do. I miss you a lot. But I’m also not going to force you to come back if you’re not ready. Even if you’re never ready, I’m just happy that you’re alive. But if you do ever want to come back, I’m staying at the Avenger’s Tower—it’s the one with giant A on it, it’s hard to miss—so you can find me there, or you can find me at Prospect Park. I’m there every Sunday afternoon by the lake.  Don’t worry about getting in trouble. I’ve been assured that you’ve been absolved of any crimes the Winter Soldier committed over the last 70 years. Everyone knows that it wasn’t your fault; I hope that you do too. _

_ Anyways, I hope that you are doing well and eating enough and that one day we can catch up. _

_ -Steve _

  
  


Steve always enjoyed his Sunday afternoons in the park, even if they were a bit lonely. It was nice to be somewhere quieter than the middle of the city, and he liked seeing all the kids there playing with their parents. Every now and again a kid would recognize him and ask for an autograph, which their parents always insisted he didn’t have to do, but he didn’t mind. It was good to take his mind off of why he was there.

The park was emptier that day, the leaves on the trees had long since fallen off and the sharp nip of winter was starting to blow in on the wind. Not as many people came once it got close to winter, but Steve didn’t mind the cold and the quiet made it a good place to think. He tried not to get his hopes up when he came here, it had been almost half a year since he’d left the note and he still hadn’t seen Bucky. He knew Bucky got it, though, because the third time he came to the park, the note was resting on the bench Steve normally sat on with the words “thanks, -Bucky” written on the bottom. But every time he left the park alone, he couldn’t help feeling disappointed.

He had gathered a small stack of stone and was skipping them. He’d managed to get up to five skips when a figure came into his peripheral vision.

“Hey,” a gruff voice said.

Steve’s eyes latched onto Bucky’s, and he fought down the urge to leap up and hug him.

“Hey,” Steve said, his smile blinding.

 

Bucky lay in bed, too tired to fall back asleep, but far too comfortable to get up yet. The light had just started filtering in through the curtains making the room bright enough for Bucky to watch Steve’s chest rise and fall with his breathing. Steve was lying on his side with his head resting on Bucky’s stomach. It was sort of heavy, but it felt pretty amazing. Bucky rubbed his fingers through Steve’s hair, which was getting pretty long. Sometimes it was hard to believe that this was really happening. Being in the 21 st century seemed more plausible than the idea that Steve felt the same way Bucky did about him, especially after all that had happened. Getting to sleep in the same bed as Steve every night because they both wanted to and not because Steve might get hypothermia otherwise, and not having to worry about what would happen if someone walked in and found them was more than Bucky had ever hoped for.

Steve shifted in his sleep, mumbling incoherently. His breathing sped up and his movement became more violent. Steve still had nightmares, not as frequently as he used to, but fairly often. Bucky knew Steve dreamt about the train, and as much as he wished Steve didn’t, he knew Steve would always feel guilty about not saving him. The same way Bucky felt guilty for all the lives that he couldn’t save from himself.

“Shh, Steve,” Bucky whispered, shaking Steve’s shoulder gently. “Wake up, it’s just a nightmare.”

“Bucky, Bucky, no, don’t,” Steve mumbled, still mostly asleep.

Bucky pulled Steve into his arms, gripping him tightly.

“It’s okay, Steve,” he said. “It’s okay. Don’t worry, I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading! Please leave a comment down below and let me know what you thought; I'd love to hear from y'all! Also if you want to come hang out with me on tumblr, my username is fireworks-and-cryofreeze.


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